Trouble Deaf Heaven
by WritersInk
Summary: Ben fic. A twist of fate lands Ben in the middle of the Apocalypse along side Dean and Sam. Throw in a suspicious cop with her own demons to vanquish, a couple of hard to swallow truths and you've got a recipe for adventure - or disaster.
1. Chapter 1

Do not fear, dear friends. I have not abandoned my other Supernatural fic, "Family Matters". I've been down with the flu for the past week and while I was recuperating, this plot idea was born and just simply refused to be pushed aside. So in effort to exorcise the damned thing, I've decided to try and pen it simultaneously. Wish me luck. Hope you don't hate it. BTW, beaucoup brownie points to anyone who knows from whence I derived this story's title. Cheers!

* * *

What was ordinarily a three hour drive seemed to last forever that night. Every traffic light was red. Every car I ended up behind seemed to want to go at least five miles per hour below the posted limit. No matter what I did, I just couldn't get there fast enough. Every mile was agony. Every minute, a lifetime. Second only to the death of my parents fifteen years earlier, it was the single worst night of my life.

Ironically, it should have been one of the best. After nearly three weeks of humiliating undercover work at Foxy's, a seedy dive of a strip joint in downtown Chicago, I'd just made the biggest bust of my career when the call came in over the radio. At first I thought it was some kind of joke. My brothers in blue were notorious for their pranks, many of which put Ashton Kutcher to shame on his best day. If only that had been the case.

Six little words brought my whole world to a stand still and nearly sent me to my knees. "Your sister's been in an accident," that's what my captain told me when she pulled me aside after I'd read the scum sucking flesh dealer his rights.

Tugging a navy blue sweatshirt bearing the letters 'CPD' over my head I laughed, "Yeah. Sure, Cap."

It wasn't the grim set of her jaw that convinced me she was telling the truth, but the sadness and sympathy I saw in her eyes. I knew then that this was no joke. This was as horrifying and mind-numbingly real as real could get. A million questions filtered through brain in that moment but none of them as desperate or important as the shakily uttered "Is she alive?" that made its way past my suddenly dry lips.

When I was told she'd been airlifted to Riverview Hospital, panic was my first instinct but I quickly trampled it down and fought back the rising tide of tears. There'd be time enough for all that later. Right now, I needed to get to Indiana.

"Will you be all right to drive yourself?" Captain Pickett asked me softly.

I hastily stepped into a pair of jeans and after nodding my head mechanically, I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. I put pedal to the medal the whole way out of the city, weaving my way through traffic at breakneck speeds, desperate to get to my sister. Given the considerable lack of sleep - I was running on less than five hours' shut eye over the past few days - the hallucination shouldn't have been so surprising but I slammed on the breaks just the same, skidding to a stop on the highway shoulder to stare open-mouthed at the man suddenly occupying my passenger seat.

He turned and looked at me with wide, brilliant blue eyes that sent a shiver of unease down my spine. I gave my head a good, hard shake. It didn't help. He was still there, calmly watching me, head tilted to one side with a single brow raised as if he were confused by my actions. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and counted silently to ten. It was something I always did when I was upset, angry or frightened and usually it helped me gain a better perspective on the situation. Unfortunately, this time it didn't work. I opened my eyes and found myself staring into his - again.

"You must hurry," he said softly. "There isn't much time left."

Deciding the best course of action was to ignore the hallucination altogether, I flipped on my turn signal. "Jesus Christ, L.J.," I muttered to myself as I merged back onto the highway. "You're really starting to lose it, girl."

"You should not take the Lord's name in vain."

I laughed. "Lovely. Even my imagination has taken to giving me lectures on morality. What next?"

When I glanced back at the passenger seat, he was gone. Just like that. Poof. He'd vanished. Great, I thought. Even imaginary men produced by sleep deprivation couldn't be bothered to stick around. Lisa would have a field day with this one. Just the thought of my sister laughing at me and calling me jaded was enough to send my foot through the floorboard of my Mustang as I downshifted and pushed my car closer to redlining than the factory ever intended.

My fingers tightened over the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white and didn't let up until I pulled into the hospital's parking lot like I was pulling into pit row at Daytona. I tore through the emergency room doors, flashing my badge and demanding to see my sister. Rationally, I knew that being transported by med-evac meant she was in all likelihood in surgery or at the very least unable to speak to me, but I was well beyond the point of being rational. I was nearing full on hysteria.

It was all too reminiscent of the night we lost our parents to the carelessness of a drunk driver - the hospital, the odor of disinfectant, the sound of the ventilator. Nausea churned in my belly and I tasted bile at the back of my throat. I couldn't do this. I couldn't lose her too.

Identical twins, we were born a short eight and a half minutes apart, Lisa being the oldest. It was something we joked about often, how she'd taken the roll of big sister so seriously. Then, when Mom and Dad died during our freshman year of high school, she went a little overboard. Aunt Jill and Uncle Peter did their best by us but it was never enough for Lisa. I guess you could say she's a big part of why I became a cop in the first place. I was just that determined to prove to her that I was capable of looking out for myself.

It was an ironic twist of fate that she was the one who ended up pregnant after a one-night stand, or rather in Lisa's case, a one-weekend stand. Having grown up in a devout Catholic household, abortion was never an option, wasn't even thought of for that matter. Barely nineteen and already a mom. God, but she was awesome at it too. Everything came as naturally to her as breathing. She always seemed to know just what to do and say. And her son? Well, he was simply amazing. Ben seemed to worship me right from the start, said he wanted to be a policeman just like his Aunt Lily. While that only lasted until he was six and discovered NASCAR, it was really humbling to have someone so small see you as their hero.

My heart was in my throat when I saw him sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest, staring straight ahead. The bandage on his brow and the cast on his left wrist answered the question as to whether he'd been with Lisa at the time of the accident. "Oh, Ben," I whispered, my tears finally starting to fall. He must have heard my softly spoken words because the next thing I knew he was in my arms clinging to me for dear life.

Whether it was God's grace or adrenaline that saw me through the next several hours, I'll probably never know. It doesn't really matter. The end result was the same. Just as the sun was rising on that Thursday morning in September, my sister died.


	2. Chapter 2

Those first few days after Lisa's death were little more than a blur. I existed as if on autopilot. I went through the motions of living, making the necessary arrangements, signing the necessary paperwork. I wish I could tell you the funeral was beautiful. In all honesty, I don't even remember it. It passed in a haze of tears, covered dishes and whispered words of sympathy. One minute I was straightening Ben's tie before we left for the church, the next I was sitting on the grass next to Lisa's casket holding him while he cried.

I don't know if it was easier or harder for him, the fact that Lisa and I were twins. He called me 'Mom' more than once in those first few weeks. Every time he said it, his breath would catch and his face would fall. But only for a second. Ben tried so hard to be strong, to be the man of the house. He caught me in Lisa's closet about a week after we'd buried her, balled up in one of her sweaters crying so hard I felt like my heart and lungs would burst with the weight of my grief. Without a word, he curled up next to me and threaded his fingers through mine then gave my hand a squeeze.

"It's okay, Aunt Lily," he said finally. "I miss her too."

Did I mention that he was an amazing kid? I was about to tell him as much when the telephone rang. It had been ringing off the hook. Lisa's neighborhood was a tightly knit little community, even more so following that bizarre series of accidents that happened last fall. Every time I turned around, one of the neighbors was bringing by baked goods or just calling to see if Ben and I were okay and could they do anything to help us out?

I wiped my nose on the back of my hand in childlike fashion and flashed my nephew a forced and somewhat watery smile. "Guess I better get that, huh?" I asked him.

Ben went back to school a week later while I began packing up the house. We'd talked about what he wanted to do, if he wanted to stay in Cicero. It had taken him the better part of two days to come to a decision. He'd chosen Chicago. So there I sat in my sister's living room boxing up the remnants of her life when I came to the startling discovery that I might not have known my sister half as well as I'd thought I did.

Hidden behind a row of thick coffee table books on art history and the Orient, I found several dog eared tomes on demonology and the occult. I thumbed through a couple of them and my eyebrows nearly hit my hairline when I recognized Lisa's handwriting in the margins. What had my sister been into? This went way beyond a passing interest if her notes were any indication. She'd actually _believed _in this stuff.

I tossed the lot of them into the garbage pile and promptly forgot about them for the next several hours. It wasn't until I stubbed my bare toe on the stack in the middle of the night that I remembered they were sitting there in the center of the rug. The small tower tumbled over as I was hopping around on one foot cursing a litany of "fuck, fuck, FUCK's" beneath my breath. When the throbbing subsided to the point that I could put both feet back on the floor, I reached down and began throwing the books in the kitchen garbage can.

It was by sheer dumb luck that I saw it. Three names and phone numbers scrawled in rather hurried and obviously masculine handwriting on the back page of one of the books. My eyes fairly bugged out of my head when I recognized the first name written there: Dean Winchester. Surely not THE Dean? I mean, it couldn't be, could it?

I don't know if fate has a sense of irony but the question of whether or not I should call him was answered the very next day when I found the letter. Its envelope was yellowed with age but bore his name and I knew it was important somehow. Then I found Ben's birth certificate while I was packing up Lisa's office and had the whole thing spelled out for me. Once upon a time when I'd asked my big sister about the man who fathered her son, she'd laughed and said he'd just been some random guy she'd hooked up with one weekend. Deep down I should have known better. I should have known by the moony-eyed expression that stole over her face whenever she'd talked about Dean. She'd denied it emphatically, but I'd always known Lisa was just a little bit in love with him.

I waited until Ben had gone to school the next day before I called him. His number had been disconnected. Next, I tried Sam Winchester, someone I could only assume to be a relation, but was greeted by the same message telling me the number I'd reached was no longer in service. The third number belonged to someone named Bobby Singer. I struck pay dirt this time though I didn't actually reach Mr. Singer, just got his answering machine. My message was brief.

"This is L.J. Braeden. I'm trying to reach Dean Winchester in respect to a personal matter of some importance. I can be reached anytime via my cell, 312-555-6538."

Okay, so it was a little cold and impersonal, but can you blame me? This really wasn't the kind of thing you wanted to dump on some poor sod's voice mail. In all honesty, I didn't expect anyone to call me back so I was more than a little surprised when my cell rang two nights later as I was spooning marinara sauce over Ben's spaghetti.

I licked a dollop of sauce from my finger tip just before I flipped my phone open and said, "This is L.J."

"Miss Braeden?" the caller asked.

"Yeah," I answered. "Who's calling?"

"Uh, this is Bobby Singer. You left a message on my machine a couple of days back looking for Dean Winchester."

I'd been laughing at Ben's impersonation of the chef from the Muppet Show but sobered instantly at the mention of Dean's name. "Yes, I did. Do you know how I can reach him?"

"That would depend," Bobby replied.

Growing impatient, I demanded, "On what?"

"On how you got this number."

"I got it from my sister, Lisa Braeden."

There was a long pause before he said, "I'll get a message to him and have him call you." The call disconnected a moment later. I looked at the phone, perplexed. And here I thought we cops were a strange and secretive bunch.

"Uh, Aunt Lily?" The tremor in Ben's voice was far more alarming and effective than any shout could ever be. I looked up and there he was in living color, my imaginary pal, complete with hideously unflattering trench coat and wind blown hair. I don't know how he got inside the house but I did know that if Ben was seeing him too then the odds of him being something as simple as a hallucination were slim to none. I was reaching for the knife block on the counter when he spoke.

"Don't be afraid. I'm not here to harm you."

Just like that night, his voice was rich and soothing, a soft tenor that chipped away at my defenses causing my fingers to hesitate for just a moment before they gripped the blade.

"Sell it somewhere else, buddy. Get the hell outta of this house," I hissed.

I watched as he sighed heavily. "You have to leave this house, Lily, and you have to leave now. They're coming."

"Who's coming? What the hell are you talking about?" I stepped closer to Ben and shoved him behind me. If this guy was some kind of psycho nut job, which it was looking like he just might be, I didn't want him anywhere near my nephew.

"They're coming for the boy. You have to leave. Head west. Don't stop until you've reached South Dakota. You must find Dean."

The knife fell from my fingers. "How did you...?"

"There isn't time. Go. Now."

Maybe it was a little crazy but on some primal level I didn't know I possessed, I knew he was telling the truth. Without a second's thought, I swiped my keys from their hook, grabbed Ben's hand and my purse and headed for the car. I don't even remember turning off the stove. If someone was really coming for Ben, I wasn't about to take the chance of finding out for sure.


	3. Chapter 3

What should have been around a fifteen hour drive rapidly devolved into a five week fight for our survival. My first mistake was in not ditching my cell phone and car right away. Both were equipped with GPS locators. I should have known better but in my own defense I wasn't thinking that far ahead. Somehow, I managed to stay one step ahead long enough to do both.

In Cedar Rapids, I withdrew as much cash as I could from my checking account, purchased a disposable phone and then, after letting my new Mustang - which coincidentally I was still paying for - roll down a boat ramp into the Cedar River, I hotwired a late eighties' Camaro later that night officially turning my back on the law I'd taken an oath to uphold.

My second mistake was in underestimating my nephew. Remember when I said the kid would have made one helluva a conman? Ben took to the grift like a duck to fucking water. He was one helluva pinch hitter when it came to laying on the charm and weaseling his way into the hearts and pocket books of old and young women alike.

He also seemed to know a whole lot more about the things that allegedly went bump in the night than he'd originally let on. Being a little more than fashionably late to this little supernatural soiree, I got the quick and ugly version. Oh, sure. I was skeptical at first and felt more than a little silly at pouring salt at the threshold of our motel room doors but all of that was negated when we crossed paths with our first demon.

We wouldn't have survived the night if my previously imagined friend hadn't shown up when he did and dispatched the son of a bitch back to hell. To this day I still have a harder time wrapping my mind around _him _than I do any of the rest of it. A girl can't be raised Roman Catholic and not believe in angels. But this guy, Castiel? He just didn't fit the bill. He was way too human for me to fully buy the whole wings and halo bit. Still, that didn't change the fact that he saved our asses that night.

After that, it became kind of a regular occurrence. He'd pop up, usually in the middle of the night while Ben was sleeping, almost as if he was just checking up on us. As the days stretched out into weeks and we seemed to be getting further and further away from South Dakota and Ben's father, my patience began to wear a little thin. There are only so many times a person can hear the words "the Lord works in mysterious ways" before they snap altogether and I was at the end of my tether.

"Would you please just cut the crap already!" I hissed in a harsh whisper, hoping my frustration wouldn't get the better of me and wake Ben in the process. The poor kid was completely worn out. "We've been out here for more than a month. I've broken so many laws I've lost count. I've given up my home, my car, my career, my whole life and all I've gotten in return is a ton of questions you refuse to answer. Castiel, please. Just level with me. Tell me what's really going on."

Have you ever wanted to know something so badly you could almost taste it and then when you learned the truth wished like hell you could take it all back? Well, for me that was it. The moment of truth, the very second I learned that the darkest, scariest parts of the Bible we real after all and that we were just a few broken seals away from the Apocalypse. So what does someone like me do when they learn the world's about to end? I wish I could tell you I partied like it was 1999. Sadly, I didn't. Instead, I threw up all over Castiel's shiny loafers. There's a picture for you. Me, bad ass Chicago PD detective puking on an angel of the Lord. Lovely, right? So very, very not.

I went out on a limb and assumed that comforting wasn't in Castiel's job description when he disappeared moments later, leaving me to my mess and impending panic attack. Somehow, I managed to drum up the strength to toss a towel over what was left of my dinner and fell into bed headfirst. I had every intention of giving him an earful the next time he decided to pop in. Yeah, well, best laid plans and all that.

Truth of the matter was he looked so weary and downtrodden the next night that I just couldn't do it, couldn't light into him for dropping the mother of all A-bombs on me then pulling his trademark vanishing act. That night, I found myself tugging off his now miraculously clean shoes and tucking him into my bed. He might not have required rest but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that he needed it just the same. I didn't ask what had happened. I didn't need to because for me grief - that kind of gut wrenching, consuming grief - was an all too constant companion. The loss he felt was telegraphed by the sorrow etched so deeply into his face. No, I couldn't yell at him. Of course, I did feel a little differently after passing the night in a ridiculously uncomfortable excuse for an armchair, something I filed away for later.

When I woke the next morning he was gone. Scribbled on the small notepad on the bedside table, he'd left behind an address.

A few hundred miles later, I had passed Bobby Singer's anti-demon and whatever the hell else I could possibly be test and was settling Ben into an upstairs bedroom when the purring of a finely tuned engine rumbled up the gravel lane. I bit my lip as I switched off the light. I wasn't ready for this. A million years from now I wouldn't be ready for this. I glanced back at Ben's sleeping form and took a deep breath. It would all be worth it, he was worth it.

When I turned towards the door, Castiel was there, watching me just like always.

After the third or fourth of his surprise visits, I managed to stop squealing like a little girl though it took a few more to rid of me of the compulsive need to curse like a sailor. He stood by the window peering through the glass out into the night. I don't know what he was looking at, even if he was looking at anything at all. He just stood there at parade rest, unmoving.

"He's here," Castiel whispered quietly.

"I know," I replied softly, crossing the room to stand beside him. A companionable silence settled between us for a few brief moments, a silence I was reluctant to break but I just had to know. "How do you know if what you're doing is right? How do I?"

He looked down at me and a shadow passed over his eyes as his lips tightened into a thin line. "We have to take it on faith, Lily. It's all we can do."

"And what about Dean? Will he do the same?"

With small, almost imperceptible laugh, Castiel answered, "I sincerely hope not." He cocked his head to one side, listening. "Go now. He's waiting."

I don't know why I looked back over my shoulder at him. God knows he'd never stuck around long enough for me to do so before, but there he was and he was looking right back at me. Were he anyone else, I might have mistaken that look for something else. But like I said, the guy was just way too human sometimes.


	4. Chapter 4

I didn't know Dean well enough at the time to realize that he'd genuinely cared about my sister, maybe even loved her. He was a master of masking his emotions, something I'd later learn he'd perfected when he was still a kid. In his line of work, with what had happened to his family, he'd had to. Maybe if I had known, I wouldn't have let his sarcasm get to me. Maybe I would have employed some of my professional training and delivered the news of Lisa's death with a little more care and understanding - rather than just blurting it out the way I did.

The moment he'd clapped eyes on me, Dean had been nothing but contrary. He'd demanded answers rather than asking questions, grilling me about how I'd found him and why I was there. Mentioning Castiel hadn't helped me build my case. Apparently, there were some hard feelings between the two, something my angelic friend had failed to mention. I was quickly and tersely told to go back home to Chicago. It was the "tell your sister I said 'hi'" that pushed my patience to its limit.

"Sorry, Dean," I sneered. "Can't do that."

He responded almost reflexively. "Why not?"

"Because she's dead."

It was that little pause, a tiny hitching of his breath before he whispered, "What?" that gave him away. I knew then that I had screwed up. Big time.

I sighed heavily as I crossed the library and picked my purse up from the couch. A quick search through its contents produced two envelopes. I handed them both to Dean.

For a painfully long minute he just looked at them, then finally looked up at me and swallowed hard. It was then that I saw it and silently cursed myself for being so stupid. Fear and anguish darkened his eyes and caused his hand to shake as he reached out and took the envelopes from me.

The topmost was the heavy, white vellum embossed in gold that contained my sister's death certificate. I don't know why I'd kept it in my handbag but I had since I'd picked it up from the courthouse the day I'd been given legal guardianship of Ben.

"She died on a Thursday morning," I said softly.

Dean's fingers toyed with the edge of the flap but never opened it. "How'd it happen?" he managed, his voice little more than a harsh whisper.

"Auto accident," I answered. "A truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and T-boned them. Ben was a little beat up but nothing serious. Lisa never regained consciousness."

He closed his eyes and drew a ragged breath. For just a moment, he let his walls slip and I could see the weary, wounded man beneath. It scared me. No one should look like that. Like their humanity was hanging by a thread and just the slightest tug in the wrong direction would destroy what was left.

"When? When did she die?" Dean asked, interrupting my thoughts.

"September 18th," I answered automatically.

The strangled sound that came from his chest isn't something I could ever forget. It was chilling and heartbreaking at the same time. His fingers crushed the two envelopes in his palm as he turned on his heel and slammed out of the front door, leaving me behind with his brother and Bobby knowing I'd missed something important.

I got the quick and ugly version from Sam. Dean had been pulled out of Hell on September 18th. There was something to wrap your mind around. Dean had been in Hell - after trading his soul for Sam's life - and an angel had pulled him out. But not just any angel: Castiel. The list of important details that hadn't been provided were rapidly stacking up and not in Castiel's favor. The next time he decided to pop in for a visit we were going to have a serious chat.

Dean's eyes were red-rimmed and a little watery when he came back inside a few minutes later with Lisa's open letter dangling from his fingertips.

"Where's my son?" he asked, his voice breaking over the last word.

"He's upstairs sleeping," I replied, my own voice wavering a little. "He doesn't know. I thought you might want to be the one to tell him."

He started towards the staircase but paused before he reached it. "Thank you," Dean said quietly.

I nodded though we both knew there wasn't anything to thank me for. Ben was his son, my nephew. In a way, we were family.

Dean disappeared up the stairs while I sank down onto the couch and buried my head in my hands. Family. For so long, Lisa and I had been all each other had. Then Ben had come and we became the Three Musketeers. Now Lisa was gone and I couldn't help but feel like I might have just lost Ben too. It was selfish, I know, to feel that way. Dean was his father, after all. Still, without my family I was lost.

I felt someone sit next to me on the couch and looked up to find myself staring into Sam's concerned hazel eyes.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Honestly? I don't know," I confessed.

Was I okay? The more I thought about it, the more I realized I was pretty fucking far from okay and probably never would be. It wasn't just the reality of handing my nephew over to his father. It was everything. It was Lisa's death, dealing with angels, stopping the Apocalypse. I was slowly losing what control I had over my emotions and suspected a psychotic break wasn't far off.

When I went upstairs a little while later to check on Ben, Dean was sitting in the small chair in the corner watching him sleep. Neither of us spoke. I pulled the blankets up, tucking them more securely around Ben and after pressing a quick kiss to his forehead, slipped out of the room. There was an innocent awe in Dean's eyes as he looked at his son. The moment was too personal and I didn't want to intrude.

I found myself heading back downstairs and out of the front door. I sat on the porch steps. The night was quiet and cold. It was late - or early depending on how you looked at it - and I should really have turned in, tried to get a little sleep. But I couldn't. Nightmares had been plaguing me the past few nights, horrifying dreams filled with pain, evil and most disturbing of all, a longing I couldn't explain, wasn't ready to admit even to myself.

"You should be inside the safety of the house."

I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Son of a bitch!" I squeaked, slapping a hand to my chest. "Put a bell on, would ya?"

"It isn't safe to be out here, Lily. You should go back inside," Castiel said, looking out into the darkness.

"And you should be a little more forthcoming with information. Guess we can't have everything we want, huh?" I drawled sarcastically as I pushed myself to my feet and looked up at him with my arms crossed over my chest.

His eyes narrowed. "I have my orders," he said flatly.

"Screw your orders," I hissed. "You could have told me. You _should _have told me."

Confusion wrinkled his brow. "I don't understand."

I rolled my eyes. Of course he didn't. "Lisa died the same morning you rescued Dean from Hell. Curious little tidbit that you _should _have mentioned, Castiel."

"The date doesn't change the fact. I don't understand the significance - "

Losing what little patience I had left, I grabbed the lapels of his trench coat, fisting my hands in the fabric, and pulled myself up onto my toes so that I could look him in the eye. "After three thousand years, you still don't get it, do you? He loved her, _really _loved her and she died the same day he came back to life. Dean thinks Lisa's death was somehow his fault, Castiel. Is it? Are they connected?"

I was practically growling by the time I stopped. My knuckles were white on his coat and I was panting with a desperation I didn't realize I was feeling. I wanted, no _needed _to hear him tell me Dean was wrong.

Castiel didn't disappoint me. His hands closed gently over my own, drawing them away, as he shook his head. "No," he said softly. "They are not connected."

My head dropped forward to rest against his chest. I took a deep, steadying breath and was about to thank him when I noticed a dark stain on his suit jacket beneath the trench coat. I reached out and had to stifle a gasp of alarm when my fingers encountered the sticky warmth of blood.

"You're hurt," I said dumbly.

He shook his head a second time. "It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing. You're bleeding, Castiel. What happened?"

Sadness so deep and heart-wrenching clouded his eyes. "A battle. One of many more to come," he said. I didn't realize he still held my hands until he gave them a small squeeze. "Go inside the house, Lily. I need to know you're safe." _Before I go_. The unspoken words hung between us.

He didn't expect to come out of this thing alive, I could see it in his eyes and right there on Bobby Singer's front porch something inside me snapped. I slapped Castiel, just drew my hand back and let it fly. My hand struck his cheek with a loud crack. Every single truth I'd been denying for far too long was wrapped up in that blow. It came crashing down over me with the intensity of a tidal wave. I was utterly and completely, one hundred percent irrevocably in love with an angel. God forgive me, but I loved him.

As if my life wasn't screwed up enough, right?


	5. Chapter 5

For the record, I'm not stupid. I had no illusions where my feelings for Castiel were concerned. It was straight up a no-win situation. He was an angel of the Lord, one of God's warriors, so holy that I couldn't even look at him in his true form. Maybe that was why I loved him - because he was holy. I'd seen so much of the evil and darkness mankind was capable of that I'd become jaded and disillusioned.

"You struck me," Castiel said with a curious tilt of his head. "Why?"

A hysterical laugh bubbled up inside my chest. Why indeed? It wasn't like I could actually tell him the truth. Yeah, that would go over really well. So I opted for ignoring the truth, choosing instead to focus on that glimmer of defeat I'd seen in his eyes.

"I could ask you the same question, Castiel. Why? Why do I see resignation when I look in your eyes? Tell me why you're so eager to sacrifice yourself and maybe I'll tell you why I slapped you."

He was silent for a long time as he watched me in the growing dark of twilight. When he finally spoke there was an edge, a hardness to his voice that hadn't been there before.

"I have my orders," Castiel said again. "What I want doesn't enter into it. I will do what I have to do. If I fall, I fall."

"To hell with your orders," I all but shouted. "You've broken them before. You could break them now if you wanted to. Tell me why you're so willing to march off to your death? Tell me the truth, Castiel. Is this how angels commit suicide?"

I'd pushed him before, had demanded answers he wasn't ready to give. But I'd never pushed him too far, not until now. One second he was on the far side of the porch, the next he was in my face backing me against the front door. The air around us seemed to vibrate with his fury. I was shaking without even realizing it.

"Scores!" he roared then quickly lowered his voice as he reigned in his anger. "Scores of my brothers have already fallen in this war, dieing while trying to save you. Do not speak to me about breaking my orders, Lily. I will not do it. Not this time. There is too much at stake." He stood over me pinning me in place with those brilliant blue eyes. Reaching up, he brushed his knuckles over my jaw. His voice was softer this time. "Don't be afraid."

Swallowing hard, I gave him a small, timid smile. "I thought you were supposed to say 'fear not'."

The corners of Castiel's mouth turned up slightly, not quite a grin but still enough to tell me he appreciated my humor. His eyes softened as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

"We all have our parts to play," he said, dropping his hand and flexing his fingers. "Go inside and get some rest."

He must have used some special angelic version of a 'Jedi mind trick' because the next thing I remember, I was waking up in my borrowed bed with the early morning sun on my face.

As I pulled on a long-sleeved tee shirt and a pair of jeans, my thoughts were focused on the epiphany I'd had the night before. Loving Castiel the way I did would be considered blasphemous to some, though that didn't change the fact that I did love him. The real trick would be pushing those feelings far enough towards the back of my mind that no one, including Castiel, was any the wiser.

To distract myself, I decided to make breakfast for everyone, something I quickly learned the kitchen wasn't exactly cut out for - if the lack of anything even remotely resembling breakfast food was any indication. So I did what any woman would do in my situation. I woke Bobby and asked him to make a grocery run.

When Ben trudged down the stairs an hour or so later, yawning broadly and wiping the sleep from his eyes, I was spooning the last of the pancake batter onto the griddle. His delight at finding a real breakfast in front of him was eclipsed by the sight of Dean filling the doorway.

"Do I smell pancakes?" Dean asked just before he found himself with seventy-five pounds of nine-year old launched at him.

"Dean!" Ben exclaimed.

My stomach clenched when Dean's eyes went all misty. "Heya, kiddo," he said hoarsely as he wrapped his arms around my nephew's shoulders, returning the hug.

To his credit, Dean did take his time with the whole 'by the way, I'm your dad' revelation. He waited until Ben was completely awake with a full belly before telling him they needed to talk. I had expected Dean to do it privately, just the two of them but he caught me off guard when he asked me to sit back down at the small table.

All in all, he took it well. Ben was apparently his father's son in that respect. He just sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down for a long moment before looking up at the two of us. Then he smirked.

"I knew it," he announced with a waggle of his eyebrows. "Cool is in my genes."

* * *

We sort of fell into a routine after that. Dean and Sam continued to hunt but began using Bobby's house as a home base. They'd leave every few weeks then come back to the salvage yard to rest and regroup. To satisfy my curiosity and pacify my survival instincts - which were screaming for me to run and not look back - I learned all I could about all those things that went bump in the night. Bobby's library held a wealth of information and most of it scared the living shit out of me.

Not once during all those long weeks did I see Castiel. I knew he was around, he'd been a sore subject with Dean and that only worsened after Halloween. He didn't say and I damned well didn't ask. His mood bordered on volcanic. So, I steered clear of him, focusing my attention instead on home schooling Ben. Since we'd been on the run, I hadn't given much thought to his education. I think working on his studies kept both of us sane.

The tension built and built around us then finally came to a head when Anna showed up. And then came Pamela Barnes, the psychic who'd had her eyes burned out of their sockets when she'd ignored Castiel's warnings and had taken a peek at his true form. The hate she felt for him made me sad but it was learning that he and Uriel had come to kill Anna that broke my heart. Sam filled me in as much as he could. I didn't have the heart to ask Dean. Until he'd walked through that door after Anna reclaimed her grace I'd always thought the thousand yard stare to be an exaggerated metaphor. I was wrong.

I was washing dishes late one evening not long after Dean and Sam had returned from Kentucky when Castiel came around again. I didn't have to turn around at the creak in the floorboards to know it was him. My hands stilled in the sudsy water and I sighed.

"Why are you here?" I asked without preamble, trying and failing to hide the relief I was feeling.

"Do you not want me to be?" he countered as he stepped forward and stood behind me, so close I could feel his breath on my neck.

Reaching for a dishtowel, I moved away from the sink and away from Castiel. I dried my hands and tossed the towel aside before I said, "You can come and go as you please. You always do."

With a heavy sigh, he ignored my sarcasm and replied, "I am here because I need to be here."

"Really? And why is that?" I wasn't in the mood for his cryptic riddles.

Castiel looked at me with wide, intense eyes and I knew then - that he knew how I felt about him. My stomach plummeted to the kitchen floor and I suddenly felt like I was going to be sick. I must have looked it too because the next thing I knew, he was gripping my upper arms, holding me upright.

"It's coming," he said gravely.

I swallowed hard. "What is?"

Remember how I had a nasty habit of asking questions that I really didn't want answered? This was one of them. Hell, this was the mother of them all.

Castiel's eyes, those ridiculously blue eyes, looked sadder and more forlorn that I ever remembered them being. They held mine as he said, "The end."


	6. Chapter 6

-1A thousand pounds of jagged rock seemed to settle in my stomach when the meaning behind Castiel's softly spoken words became clear. My heart beat a riotous tattoo against my chest and I felt suddenly breathless. Strangely absent was the clenching of my gut that always preceded my inevitable upchucking whenever the angel delivered news I wasn't ready to hear. In its place I felt an odd numbness, almost as if I'd been expecting this but hadn't quite realized it until that moment.

"How soon?" I managed to choke out as I stared down at my feet unable to keep his gaze.

Castiel's hands loosened on my arms but he didn't let me go. I could feel his thumbs rubbing soothing circles, heard him take a deep, steadying breath, but not once did I look up. I didn't trust myself enough. I was about two seconds away from launching myself at him, consequences be damned. If this was it, if the end of the world was really right around the corner, I didn't want to die without knowing his touch. But sadly for all my bark and bravado, I just didn't have the balls.

"Soon," he said simply.

My voice shook a little as I said, "What's going to happen?"

His hands dropped and he looked away. "I do not know. Much depends on Dean."

I watched as Castiel fought some internal battle. A muscle ticked in his stubble covered jaw. I wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to just lay my hand against his face and soothe away those lines of worry. But something stopped me from going to him. Maybe it was the inherent knowledge that I'd be crossing a line I couldn't uncross. Touching Castiel now would all but be an admission of my feelings. I couldn't do that to him, not now when there was obviously more than just the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

"What can I do?" I asked breaking the silence that had settled over the kitchen.

He looked back at me then. There was so much emotion burning in his eyes that I suddenly found it very hard to breathe. Fear, anguish, dread, hope, and love were one big tangled mess and I'd never seen anything more beautiful or heartbreaking.

Castiel's voice was rough as he said, "There's nothing you can do. I fear I made a mistake in leading you here. My superiors are concerned that Ben will prove too great a distraction for Dean."

I didn't want to know, really I didn't but I couldn't stop myself from saying, "What do they want you to do?"

"Ben will be sent away for his safety. You are to go with him."

"And your superiors don't think Ben's angelic abduction won't be a distraction? Dean will be furious!"

He spoke in a tone so soft I had to strain to hear him. "Dean will not remember him."

I turned away from him with shaking hands, willing myself to be strong, not to let the tears of self-pity and defeat take me. There was nothing I could do to stop them from taking us away. In my heart, I understood. I really did. That didn't mean I agreed, not at all. Or at least, at first I didn't. Then I started thinking about all the things that could go wrong if Dean's head wasn't a hundred percent in the game. Maybe this was the only way.

The last thing I expected was to feel Castiel's hands on me once more, this time far more gently. They landed softly on my shoulders startling me enough that I let out an undignified squeak then turned me to face him. This time I didn't bother to try and hide my emotions. I let every ounce of love I felt for him rise up to the surface and my skin sang with it.

I'm not really sure what I was going to say. I never got the chance. No sooner than I had opened my mouth, I was jerked roughly forward closing the small gap between Castiel's borrowed body and my own. The lips that swooped down to capture my own were cool and dry, at first just brushing across my startled mouth before taking advantage of my surprise. And I was definitely, definitely surprised. For several long heartbeats of time I couldn't move or think. My mind was so full of Castiel and all the feelings that he was stirring inside me that it was simply closed off to anything that existed outside our forbidden little bubble.

He was impossibly warm. My arms wound around his neck drawing him closer. It wasn't enough. I couldn't get enough. Castiel seemed to feel the same way because the next thing I knew, he was backing me against the kitchen wall and pressing every single inch of his body against mine. We were welded together from chest to knee, mouths hot, hungry and demanding. My fingers worked their way into his hair while his wormed their way beneath my shirt. His touch was fire, his lips the soul of damnation.

To this day, I still wonder if maybe, just maybe it had all been a dream. A beautiful, wonderful, completely fucked up dream. The memory was burned into my brain every bit as much as it had been etched into my heart. For one glorious, unbelievable moment, I'd known true ecstasy - from a single, world shattering kiss.

It was over almost as quickly as it had begun. Castiel suddenly tore himself away from me, fleeing to the opposite wall where he stood panting. With wide, confused eyes he stared at me. I watched the fear overtake his other emotions and felt my heart break into a thousand pieces.


End file.
